


Nam Tok

by hannibalsketches



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, alternate ending for Ko No Mono, contains SOTL refrences, i have no idea where this came from]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1787044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalsketches/pseuds/hannibalsketches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything was exactly as it was in his dreams the night before, only this time, the dense blade was cool to the touch, and Hannibal's eyes were ten times more intense. The moment was now; Will would finally execute Hannibal, who had done so much damage to him, to everyone. He could send this demon back where it belonged.</p>
<p>So why wasn't he done with it already? Why did the knife have a sudden guilt weighing it down?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nam Tok

**Author's Note:**

> Nam Tok- a spicy soup stock enriched with raw cow blood or pig's blood
> 
> Set near the end of Ko No Mono

His vision darts as he takes in the image of  his psychiatrist, strapped and hanging like meat on a hook. Mason Verger listened to his coaxing, offering Will the chance to end Hannibal with no strings attached, and a front row seat to the blood fest afterwards. He had insisted that Mason let him do the fate sealing throat slice on the car ride here, and the deranged man was happy to oblige.

Everything was exactly as it was in his dreams the night before, only this time, the dense blade was cool to the touch, and Hannibal's eyes were ten times more intense. The moment was now; Will would finally execute Hannibal, who had done so much damage to him, to everyone. He could send this demon back where it belonged.

So why wasn't he done with it already? Why did the knife have a sudden guilt weighing it down?

Will struggles to bite down these questions as he surveys the situation, a defense mechanism he had perfected. Jack would be furious if Hannibal died this way, but Will needed to do this.

Didn't he?

He thrusts the weapon to Hannibal's neck. Will makes the mistake of looking at the man's gaze, cold and unforgiving. All at once, he's forced to rethink his past decisions, the other man's dark, rustic voice speaks somewhere in the back of his mind.

Do you feel you've taken the right courses of action, Will?

Will begins second guessing himself. Did he really want Hannibal to die this way? The brutality was fitting, but it wouldn't be directly by his hand. He'd give that bastard Verger the same satisfaction, the same monster who killed his fetal child before it even had a pulse.

He draws back from his haze to see Hannibal smirking, even with the blade pressed against his throat. He knew Will wasn't going to hurt him.

There's a minute of doubt before he flips the man, using a large, jagged sweep to tear through the bindings of the straight jacket. A gunshot, courtesy of Mason's gooney, nearly deafens him. It rips through his right shoulder, and Will falls, passing out immediately.

-The soft buffer of industrial fans brings Will back into consciousness for a moment; his head was laying on a soft, but firm object. A brief glance shows its a shirt, and the paisley tie adorning it looks alarmingly familiar. He can't place it in his painful state.

He was obviously being carried, and before he has a chance to think of who it might be, the stranger talks, his voice shocking Will to the core.

"Look at us, Will. Two true protestants, begging for help in the eyes of God."

He doesn't know what compels him to answer, but his voice is choked and cracked.

"Thank god we aren't in a church, then."

His savior smiles, something horrific, but hopeful all the same.

Will attempts to move, but the pressure on his arm, now bleeding onto Hannibal's pricey shirt, is too much. He's placed into a vehicle, and lulls back to sleep at the sound of cars passing by.

-By the time Will fully awakens, it's dark outside, and the sharp pain in his shoulder is nothing but a dull thudding. It's a struggle to even open his eyes, meaning Hannibal had sedated him. The man looks down, shocked to see himself in a black suit, with a recognizable tie snug in place.

Will sits up, taking time to look at his surroundings. Though the darkness took his vision, it was no doubt Hannibal's own bedroom, the unusual cologne he wore fills Will's lungs. He checks his shoulder, finding it expertly sewn shut,  but still angry and swollen. Will tries to stand, but find his legs ridiculously weak. He falls gracelessly, taking Hannibal's side table down with him. The racket is enough to alert his host, who speaks most likely from the kitchen.

"Will? Is everything alright?"

He can't bring himself to answer, instead struggling to take a step. He's successful, and starts a blemished decent to the stairs. The phone wires were cut, and a small stag sculpture, perhaps a scaled down version of the one below, catches his attention. Will grabs it, in case of the need for defense.

Once near the main floor of the house, he can smell the rich flavors of meat simmering in the kitchen. He holds the statue behind him while he enters, at first taking a glance in the dining room. Someone else was there, their back turned to the door, so Will couldn't see who. He decides to go to the kitchen, where a rather chipper Hannibal is preparing dinner. He's changed into a fresh suit, its odd eggplant hue off sets the pristine steel kitchen. He stops cooking, walking to Will with a dark glare on his face. He grips the hidden arms wrist, easily grabbing the statue from his grip. 

"That was extremely rude, Will. You recall our conversation earlier, I hope."

 _Whenever feasible, one should always eat the rude ._

The words come clear as day to mind, giving Will the shudders. Hannibal is preparing vegetables when he speaks again.

"I imagine your wound is doing better. The bullet didn't do much damage."

He sautes the greens next.

"I hope you don't mind, I put you in appropriate wear for our feast. We have a...guest. Come, help me with these."

Despite his mind protesting beyond belief, Will complies, grabbing the freshly cooked veggies and following Hannibal into the dining room.

What he sees nearly causes him to drop the pot.

There, at the end of the table, was no doubt Mason Verger, happily peeling his face off like a potato. Majority of the skin was gone from his lower jaw, the wet flaps were being collected into a bowl. His teeth were visible, and his jaw was dripping blood. He gives a noise of surprise at seeing Will.

"Well well, if it isn't my sister's baby daddy- oh wait, never mind!"

Mason howls with laughter, made even more demented by the constant stretching of the muscles in his cheeks. Hannibal urges Will to sit, he chooses a chair two places down from Mason. The doctor disappears into the kitchen for a moment.

He soon returns with a serving cart, holding plates and silverware, but more importantly, a hotplate.

"Alright Mason, let's see what you've harvested."

Like a child showing a picture they colored, the man offers his bowl to Hannibal, who only tsks in disapproval.

"I'm sorry Mason, but these wont do. They're too ragged and small. Your nose would be a better specimen."

"Whatever you say, Doc."

Mason makes a show of it, slicing his nose like butter. A river of blood rushes out, making Will gag. With the lights overhead, he could see every detail.

Hannibal gives Mason a smirk before tossing the flesh into the skillet. The dining room is soon filled with the sharp aroma of it cooking. Will closes his eyes, but Mason smiles (or what Will assumes is a smile), and regards him with enthusiasm.

"Doesn't that smell delicious?"

Will nearly vomits then and there, but manages to keep it down with the fear of coming off _rud_ _e_.

Hannibal soon serves Mason the meat, and he devours it eagerly.

"Mhmm...fascinating! I have the taste and consistency of a chicken gizzard!"

The doctor looks at Will for the first time since their meal started.

"I've given him powerful hallucinogens... Will, would you care for some vegetables?"

"N-No thank you."

Mason giggles, finishing the last of his nose.

"I'm full of myself!"

-Hannibal quickly sedates Mason, wheeling him out to the front door, the man's fur lined coat covering up the damage. He stalks to Will, who doesn't protest much as he's pulled backup the staircase, back into Hannibal's room. The doctor secures him with zipties to the bed frame.

"I'll only take a moment. I need to take Mason to a hospital. Once I return, we will talk."

He leaves without another word.

-Will is left to try (and fail) to remove the grotesque images in his mind. Normally, he'd call it another day at the office, but he hadn't had a chance to eat in two days, and the scene wasn't exactly appetizing.  
Here, at least, he was allowed some time alone. Time to sort through emotions that could easily get him killed. 

There was a time where Will would have considered himself _friends_ with Hannibal, and he often entertained the idea of even having a relationship with the man. They had enough in common.

Of course, those hopeful thoughts went down the toilet when his 'friend' framed him for murder, and manipulated him into believing he had lost his mind. It turned into an all out war, and there wasn't a way both of them could come out unharmed. Will came out of the hospital a changed man that even _he_ was afraid of. 

What good did that do him now, though? Here Will was, hog tied to Hannibal's bedpost, with two notches already against the doctors life. 

Tears come easily, they soak his coat lapels, silent yet powerful. When he hears the familiar sound of a car door slamming, he wails, knowing he was about to be killed. Will was a good fisherman, but he never stood a chance against a beast like Hannibal. He only managed to agitate. That wasn't a good outcome for anyone around them.

He's a shuddering mess when Hannibal reenters, dressed in a plastic see through suit.

The doctor rushes to him, quickly slicing the zip tie in two. Will screams, kicks with all his might. If he was going down, he wanted to leave Hannibal with a few marks.

Unfortunately, the drowsiness still lingers, so he doesn't accomplish much, only a few rolls back and forth. He grips Hannibal's sleeve, crying out, despite sounding like a spoiled child.

"Leave me alone! I hate you!"

Hannibal suddenly pulls away at that, causing Will to fall rather sharply on the floor. He gasps in pain, the fresh stitches in his shoulder bursting at the contact. He's gushing blood, and his vision is a little fuzzy. Hannibal crouches near him.

"You could continue with this pointless act, Will, or I could assess your damages."

His voice is low, almost growling. He doesn't have another choice.

Will is picked up again, and he honestly wonders where Hannibal attained his brute strength.

"What did you do to Mason?"

He could honestly care less about the bastard, but appearances were everything right now.

"Mason became rather...vocal when his medication ran out. I broke his neck, enough to paralyze him, and dropped him off at the ER, then got rid of the car and my clothing."

They descend down the stairs, to a place Will had never been before. He supposed there was a good reason for it- this was where the Chesapeake Ripper kept his trophies.

He's placed gingerly on a medical table. Will's stomach threatens to empty. How many people died in this place?

He is halted by the doctors cold hands prodding at his wound, making him wince in pain.

"My apologies. You've torn the stitches on the inner layer of skin. I'll go get some supplies."

Sadly, while Hannibal is briefly away, Will isn't able to move far. A trickle of blood moves down his neck, tears stream down his face. He wishes Hannibal _would_ kill him, it was better than this.

The doctor comes back, carrying a cup of water, and a small tool kit. He helps Will up, then places two small pills in his palm.

"Take these. They will help with the pain."

He was being overly crass, but Will obeys anyway, deciding for now to trust the little capsules. He's urged out of his jacket, tie, shirt and undershirt, then pushed back down.

The cool table makes him exhale, but he relaxes, eager to get this over with. Will closes his eyes, trying to pretend he was anywhere but Hannibal's basement.

"Tell me, Will. Do you think Mason deserved to harvest himself, to consume his own flesh?"

He opens his eyes with a pointed look. The conversation wasn't one he wanted to have, but there really wasn't any other option.

"He preached about slaughter and power, but was blind to his own nature. Mason Verger is an animal, a disgusting pig. Tonight was a nicer alternative from what I would have done."

"This sense of riotousness suits you well, Will."

Little else is said during the procedure, and is soon done. Will immediately rises, choosing to lock eyes with his captor. New questions needed to be answered.

"Why didn't you leave me there to die?"

"You wouldn't have died from _that_ , Will. If anything, you'd be unconscious from the swell on your head. I saw it as a quid pro quo. You saved me. The only polite thing to do was to save you back."

"But I led Mason to your _door_. I told him to kill you. Aren't you concerned I'll do it again?"

"You were interested to see what would happen. I can relate. I don't know that you won't make another attempt at my life. I just have to trust that you will continue to save me."

Will snorts at that, the notion that the doctor was trusting him sounding a tad ridiculous.

He's lead out of the basement, and into the kitchen, settling down on a bar stool.

Hannibal moves gracefully from object to object here, seemingly floating on the linoleum.

"Would you care for some eggs? I imagine you haven't eaten in some time."

Will doesn't answer, which is as good as a yes for Hannibal. He makes quick work of breakfast, creating a show of tossing the food in the air, then back onto the skillet.

The scramble is soon served, filling up his nose with scents too delicious to ignore. He digs in, shoveling all he can inside.

"You need to slow your pace. All that at once could potentially cause your stomach to turn."

The words are miles away as Will finishes the last creamy bites. He sits back, staring at his doctor with a glare.

-Shortly thereafter, Will finds himself in the bathroom, heaving into the lush porcelain throne. Hannibal is at his side, watching with nothing akin to pity on his features.

As Will is finished, he lays back, letting the cold tiles sooth his sweaty bare skin. His psychiatrist offers a cool washcloth,which he wraps eagerly around his sweaty forehead. They share a glance that nearly makes Will groan at the underlying remark.

' _I told you so_ '

Once the shivers have stopped, though, the two part ways for some well deserved rest; Hannibal in his room, and Will just to the left, in a guest bed. Each feel the tides shifting as they turn out the light.

-There's a suffocating silence that submerges Will as he enters a dream-scape, this one bearing a shocking resemblance to his current place of dormancy. It encases his ears with a thick padding, making everything here muffled and illegible.

Then, as if on cue, Abigail Hobbs, in her innocence, walks in.

She smiles, tears streaming down her face. He can only make out a soft outline of her voice, but understands what she says.

 _Hello, Will._

He feels his heart lurch at the words. It felt so _real_. If he could only reach her, feel her heartbeat under his palm...

A dark, looming shadow encases the space behind her, tall antlers closing her in a makeshift cage. The Wendigo's hands are enormous, inky black abominations that look sticky to the touch. The creature, with its familiar features, touches Abigail, and she begins to panic.

Will tries to get up, but his limbs won't work. He's reduced to a screaming mass as the beast slices her throat, following the slim line from before.

As a spray of her warm blood peppers his cheek, Will awakens, sweaty and gasping for air. He immediately looks at the door, awaiting another horrific image. His shoulder starts to throb. 

Conveniently though, there are two pills and a small glass of water. He takes these before another thought enters his mind.

Once the storm has passed him, and his brain is clear and valid, Will collapses in on himself, heaving with abundances of tears.

There was no way out of this spiders web, not without violence and death. Will had a choice; himself or the others.

He knew what he had to do.

-Luckily for Will, the medicine from before has worn off, producing a much quieter step as he descends the stairs in only his underwear, to retrieve a shimmering blade from the kitchen. With its promising weight on his palm, Will can expertly climb the stairs, to Hannibal's chambers.

The door is wide open, but the Doctor is fast asleep inside, his comforter above his head. Will stalks, silent as a mouse, until he's positioned right above Hannibal's skull.

With all the power coursing through his veins, the end of his torture nearing, Will sheds a single tear as he promises the sacrifice.

 _For Abigail_.

His eyes close as the knife plunges down, prepared to feel the bone split, the blood filling his hands.

However, it does not come.

Instead, the sheets cave in, showing a pillow wedged in Hannibal's place.

"If you think my sleeping is that heavy, then you are a fool, Will."

He can't breathe, nor has the time to. He's soon shoved against a wall, the blade ripped from his grasp. Hannibal has him pinned on all sides, with it raised at his throat. Will's bare chest is heaving, and flushed a frightened pink.

"I expected a little time before you tried killing me again. I saved your _life_. Is this my repayment?"

"We were even then, remember?" Will nearly spits the words. He didn't plan on submitting easily."Quid Pro Quo."

"Then what have I done to spur this betrayal?"

"You murdered Abigail."

He's released abruptly, and the tension threatens to swallow him whole. Hannibal's eyes are void of emotion, black as night, as dark as the creature that stalked Wills dreams.  They looked scared and alone, predatory and sharp, yet soft and tender, as if tears threatened to fall. The mask he usually wore was gone. His mouth quivers, smirking for a single moment, before returning to a slack line of solemn danger. Hannibal lifts a calloused hand, it finds its home nestled on Will's neck, a gesture they knew too well. Always controlling, always intimate.

Here, locked in Hannibal's essence, Will finds his facade slipping with the passing seconds. He would die here, not now, but soon, and it'd be for nothing. His plan would go to shit, and others would hurt. Hannibal would get away. He wouldn't be around to catch him again.

With the tears cascading down his cheeks, Will screws his eyes shut, refusing to look at Hannibal in his soon to be last moments. He braces for anything, a swift slice across the throat, a desperate, intimate gutting. 

He counts the seconds. _One_ _Two_ _Three_ _Four_ _Five_ _Six_ _Seven_ _Eight_ _Nine_ _Ten_ Will only barley glances out, but its enough of a peek to see the Doctor sigh, and watch him look down at the knife, much like he did at Mason's the night before. He shuts them again when Lecter looks up. _Eleven._ _Twelve._ _Thirteen._ There's a dissected, dragged out second of Will focusing on the little things. A puff of Hannibal's distinct musk, the early morning air breezing by, the delicate sound of fabric stretching, breathing.

Sensations bombard him after that, he barely has time to register Hannibal's lips being pressed firmly on his own. Shock submits him, Will is horrified to find his body responding naturally, taking a bit of the other man's lower lip in. Reality makes him pull away.

Will's sure his expression is nothing short of confused, possibly appalled. This was someone he wanted once, but no longer lusted after. Yet, amongst the familiarity of it, relived in his old fantasies countless times, Will's mind finds something to hold onto, to take comfort in. He closes the distance.

Kissing was a better alternative to pain any day.

Hannibal responds with a surprised moan, dropping the knife to the floor, wrapping the other hand further behind, to cup Will's neck.

Their lips partake in a lazy tango, pushed farther by Hannibal's roaming hands. They mold Will's flesh, as if he were wet clay, begging to be formed. He sighs into the touch, allowing his mouth to be ravaged by Hannibal's expert tongue. It was turning into something he often wished for a time before, delivered too late. He tries imagining this jagged man as the posh, intelligent one from his past, but its impossible. The barbed truth caged them in, making sure Will didn't flee, and ensuring Hannibal was a monster.

He's incredibly soft though, taking time to caress every inch of skin possible. Hannibal has somehow made it out of his shirt; their chests press together. Will finds their heartbeats completely in sync, slow, endearing. With every thump, his backbone disintegrates, he falls into compliance for the sake of living. Perhaps just giving Hannibal what he wanted could prove valuable.

A growl forms on Will's lips as the doctor chuckles, sensing the submission. He aligns their hips, pressing down firmly. Hannibal traces the shell of his ear with jagged teeth and a sharp tongue.

"We shall continue this later. Stay here."

To test the rope he had been given, Will becomes resilient, pushing his luck with a quick retort.

"And what if I don't?"

Hannibal's eyes go dark, he pins Will down by the throat, squeezing with just a fraction of what he was capable of. The darkness nearly swallows Will whole, but he refuses to struggle.

"I will track you down, and I will kill you."

Of course, Will knew that wasn't the whole truth. He would lack an equal. Someone to compete with, someone to compare himself to. Killing Will would leave him alone in this cruel, unforgiving world.

The hold is released, Hannibal's facade falls for a moment. He seems almost upset, but Will can't be sure.

He leaves, retreating downstairs.-Hannibal's bedroom, now displayed in full light for his viewing, seems a tad lackluster than he imagined, and only contains the essentials. Of course, he knew the little decorations there were worth fortunes, but it seemed so cold, lifeless. Only there to serve its purpose.

Will makes no moves to remove his boxers, looking instead to a rather small frame that catches his eye. Inside is a preserved insect, pinned down and displayed, much like he had been for the past few days. It's wings were magnificent, a powder yellow with bright accents. The creatures most striking feature by far was its head, adorned with swirling black patterns that mimicked a skull. Underneath it, in blue ink, it's name was written.

 _Acherontia lachesis_

 _"_ _ **Death's Head Hawkmoth**_ _"_

Will's thoughts travel back, to a moment he and Hannibal shared while he debated killing Clark Ingram.

 _I can feed the caterpillar, I can whisper through the chrysalis, but what hatches follows its own nature, and is beyond me._

He feels a sense of self discovery in the memory, it was a defining moment, where he knew just _exactly_ what Hannibal's play was. From there on, he had tried to install the false sense he was evolving, but in all honesty, he really was. A second part of Will, one that was strikingly similar to Hannibal, was growing stronger by the hours. He was starting to have trouble deciding what side he was on.

Will Graham knew two things though; he'd gladly let Hannibal rot, and he was done with manipulation. Whatever else rattled in his mind he couldn't afford to let in the lime light. He had to fight this encounter, he had to leave Hannibal with reminders of how capable he was to hurt another.

Hannibal enters the room then, still visibly tense from the fight. He stalks past Will, shrugging out of his shirt and tie. As he's unbuckling his belt, he speaks.

"Lie down on the bed."

He's fluidly moving, slipping off his shoes, socks, pants. He folds them neatly into a hamper, then turns, giving Will a rather expectant look, almost completely unaware of the strain happening in his boxers.

Will inhales, pries his eyes from Hannibal's form, then hisses with as much malice as he can muster.

" _No_."

Hannibal's eyes darken, and he steps closer.

"I don't think you are in a position to defile me, Will."

The words go straight to his bullet wound, burning it until tears spring in his eyes. A pregnant silence stretches over them, their interlocking gaze refusing to fold.

"You want me to be your equal, right? Let me on your level then, Hannibal. Give me enough rope to hang with."

The scowl he's met with was unlike anything Will had ever seen before. Angry, yes, but so much more... _intimate_.

He has a split moment of clarity before being shoved against the wall again, stomach first. Will wails as his stitches make contact, one of the interior ones burst open.

Hannibal pulls his arms behind him, tying them with a discarded sock unbearably tight. He thrusts Will onto the bed, pinning him down. Another knife is produced from underneath the mattress, it glints maliciously in Hannibal's palm.

"Do _not_ move."

As if sensing the possibility of more back talk, he suddenly thrusts the blade into the headboard, burying the metal completely. With immaculate skill, he lifts Will's arms, looping the binding around the handle, knotting it until motion was impossible.

Hannibal gets off the mattress then, bending down to retrieve his fallen belt. Will goes crazy, whimpering and begging, betraying his previous demeanor.

"No, Hannibal, please!"

"Begging won't spare you. You have been impeccably rude Will, and since I have no desire to kill you, you must be punished."

Without mercy, he delivers the first blow, hard across Will's abdomen. The other man screams through his tears, his wound weeps alongside, staining the satin sheets burgundy.

Hannibal starts an assault, no mercy being shown. Lash after lash riddle Will's body, he stops counting at thirteen. He can feel his sanity being _beaten_ out of him, so when Hannibal finally does stop, all that is left is a dark mass inside that was begging to be released. Marks criss-cross on Will's pearly chest, now painted pink and red. The only sliver of mercy is that the wound was spared any torment.

Hannibal walks to the side of the bed, admiring his work. Wills cheeks were bleeding, it seemed. Tears pave two beautiful lines from his eyes. He smiles at Will, cupping his cheek tenderly.

"Don't you see how wonderful I've made you? You cannot hide from your true self. It is already hatching."

In a last pathetic attempt, Will whimpers, leaning into the touch.

"No....no."

Hannibal shushes him with a soft kiss.

"Let me help you."

Carefully, Hannibal unites Will, pressing his lips to the friction burns there. Will limply drops them, fully unsure of Hannibal's real play, but happy for the change in demeanor. The doctor climbs on top of him, and begins showering the marks with up most affection. He laps the blood from Will's wound with a satisfied hum, relishing the flavors on his palette. He crooks his face behind Will's ear, and begins nibbling it tenderly. The man's whisper sends shock waves through his companion.

"I am sorry, but this was the only way to get through to you. I will never hurt you unless you deserve it, understand?"

Will nods in compliance, mind still slightly shell-shocked from the beating.

"I'm going to take the pain away now, Will. Do you trust me?"

He could never trust him.

"Yes."

With a smirk, Hannibal snakes down Will's body, pulling off his boxers in one tug. When his cock hits the back of Hannibal's throat, a surge of energy courses through him, delivering a guttural moan that shakes the headboard.

Slowly Hannibal works him, sucking, biting, licking, until he starts to react. He slowly bobs his head up and down, glancing at Will with the same look from earlier. The ultimate shock almost sends him off the edge, but before he even has a chance, Hannibal is getting off the bed, rummaging around in the bedside table.

Will is surprised to feel Hannibal's bare erection as the doctor resumes his position, at the foot of the bed. He pushes Wills knees up, and intrudes with two slick fingers. The detective keens and hisses as he's roughly scissored open. Only moments later, he's being hoisted onto Hannibal's lap, and pierced deep.

He gives up any movement, collapsing against Hannibal's form. Their foreheads press together, their air is mingled.

"You're so _beautiful_ , Will. I can extend your elegance. I can make you _magnificent_."

Will is lost in a world of pain and pleasure, but he finds himself smiling, despite every bone in his body wanting the man inside him dead. A voice answers, his voice, but he's too consumed in the void to realize it.

"Am I your design, H-Hannibal??"

He's silenced by another kiss.

"You always were."

Hannibal moves then, pulling out, then pushing back in, he finds a slow, but effective pace. Will teeters off the deep end, finally succumbing, allowing pleasure to take its course. His skin was still raw from the beatings, but every time Hannibal hit his prostate, the ache seemed to dissipate. A knot starts forming in Will; it tries to scratch and claw its way out. It wasn't just an orgasm, but a beast, and he was afraid to let it out.

Yet in the same breath, he wanted to see what it could do.

Without realizing it, he's meeting Hannibal's thrusts tit for tot, digging his nails in deep enough to leave bruises for a while. He starts sucking on Hannibal's neck, nipping enough to break the vessels underneath. 

Will's climax, and whatever else inside, unleashes. He chomps down _hard_ on the other man's shoulder, the iron taste exploding across his tongue. Hannibal gasps sharply, grabbing Will and riding out his blind passions. His seed spills hot and fast, his moans are soft and palpable.

Will is placed back down on the mattress like a sacrifice, Hannibal's calloused palms push with delicate force. He pulls out, and Will nearly cries at the absence.

"How do you feel now?" The doctors voice is sore, cracking at the seams.

At first the answer doesn't come to him. He feels used, like a sex toy with burned out batteries. But there, just in the pit of his stomach, that _something_ remains, burrowed for the moment.

Of course, acknowledging it only feeds its desires. The dark mass seems to grow by the second, out unto the tips of his fingers and toes. For a moment, he wants to describe this, but thinks twice, some small part of his sane brain making a dying attempt.

"Used."

The sound that follows it short, but puzzling. It's not until he sees the smile that Will realizes it's laughter.

Hannibal Lecter was laughing in his face.

Because he knew the truth.

He makes no moves to comment on it though, merely rolls beside Will, encasing him in a dangerous embrace.

The thing in Will loves it, pushes him into the touch, _purrs_ as the doctor pets his hair.

They fall asleep in no time.

-When Will wakes up, he's grateful to find the doom from before gone; it seemed light put his newly awakened monster at bay.

He's still pressed against Hannibal, each breath ruffles the man's chest hair. He wasn't quite sure what to do now. He wanted Hannibal in jail, true, but he also wanted Hannibal like this, smelling of passion and exhaustion, a hand loosely threaded through Will's curls. Perhaps he could keep up the charade, fall into compliance with Jack to bring this demon beneath him down; Hannibal was bound to escape, and come seeking his own revenge. That's when Will could let go of his inhibitions, and finally be at peace.

He just needed to find Achilles' heel.

Hannibal rises beneath, humming contently, mapping out Will's skin as if he were blind. Will angles his head to see him, and he opens his eyes immediately.

They sit there, interlocked in something presumably deep, but with little meaning at all. Hannibal cracks a micro smile, then clears his throat.

"I'm happy to see we're on the same page, Will."

At first he doesn't reply, afraid to approach the topic, afraid he'll lose composure and rip Hannibal to shreds, but decides to breach a topic he had given little thought to, a topic that could potentially get him out of this situation.

"You need to let me go, Hannibal. Jack will worry."

At the lead detectives name, Hannibal puts back on his mask, distancing himself from emotions entirely. He pulls away, sitting up on the mattress.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. What will you tell him?"

Will rises to get dressed.

"Nothing. Though, I'm sure I'll get questions when I can't step without cringing. I'll just say I fell while taking the dogs for a walk."

He looks in the mirror at his reflection, but quickly shies away, unnerved by the lashes on his chest, the burst stitches, the sudden dark glint to his eye.

"I can give you ointment for the scars, if you'd like."

Hannibal has managed standing, even shimmed his too tight boxers on.

The words disturb him, but Will speaks them anyway. "No. I rather like them."

Without warning, he's pulled into a soft kiss, one of his old fantasies.

"Perhaps breakfast, then? After I've repaired your stitches."

-The care and meticulous method Hannibal makes pancakes baffles Will, and for that moment, he's forgot about the demon inside, his vendetta. All he can focus on is the way Hannibal's wrist moves with such fluidity.

The fluffy circles are devoured as fast as Will can manage, and he's struggling to leave as soon as possible, on the premise that he needed a shower before going to the BAU for the day. Hannibal lets him,but not before kissing him again, grinding their hips together to show Will the impressive hard on he was sporting. As he pulls away, Hannibal whispers three little worlds that change Wills life.

"I love you."

His shock is genuine, but as he departs, the small smile he had answered with grows wider and wider.

He had done it, he had found Hannibal's heel. The finishing touch for his bait to lure the shark in.

  
 _Love_.

The line was cast, the bait taken. Now, all Will could do was reel it in.


End file.
